


Moon Sugar Songs

by thornwhipped



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Consensual Mind Control, Drabble Collection, Illustrated, Monsters, Nonbinary Character, Other, Overstimulation, Pheromones, Scent Kink, Sex Magic, Shapeshifting, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-04-16 05:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornwhipped/pseuds/thornwhipped
Summary: In which a Bosmer nightblade and their datemate team up to get kinky with all of Nirn.





	1. Don't go in that cave did you mean DO go in that cave?

The innkeeper had maybe been a touch too lurid with his warnings.

He’d almost had them at “stay away from that cave, traveller, the creature inside devours magicka,” because being reduced to hitting things with their staff was annoying. But then he’d continued with a graphic description of how the gelatinous monster hypnotized unwary mages to draw out their energy through hours of sexual stimulation and Embris had felt their ears literally perk up. Somehow they got directions out of the man without embarassing themself any further.

There are tracks coming and going from the cave, booted and barefoot in both cases, which tell them that maybe they weren’t the first person to make a “donation” here. Inside, past a narrowing in the rock, there it is. The walls appear like jellied crystal, studded with fleshy flowers, glowing the same blue as an Ayleid well.

It snares them quicker than they expected.

Without any resistance or the need to muddle out of their clothes, the light simply pours into their eyes and over their brain. Embris can feel their thoughts dissolving like sugar in water, the constant buzz of them growing blessedly quiet. Except for a syrupy echo of  _oh fuck oh gods it’s really doing it it’s controlling me_ that resounds in the blue stillness of their mind, making their arousal drip in runnels down their thighs.

 _Down_ isn’t so much a command as a sense of pressure that they follow unthinkingly, their weakened will and knees grateful for it and for the flower that follows them down so they can keep staring emptily into its star-studded center until their body’s sparkling with it.

The slick cushioned ground bears their hips up as the amorphous shape underneath them swells and their legs fall open automatically, exposing them to the mineral-scented air. Embris is too absorbed to even notice. The more they stare into the flower, its light pouring into their head, the more of their magicka pours up into it, taking their thoughts with it. The drain is as slow and steady as that from a carefully-crafted ritual and far more satisfying.

The bump that grows from the slick surface is impossible to miss, cold enough against their heated flesh to make them shiver. They’re spellbound to just lay there and take it as keeps growing, a fat smooth stalk rubbing up and down their slit, spreading messy wetness, more intense for how inescapable it is. Soon the curve of it is grinding between their lips, then the tip, circling and petting and spreading them open and they’re dripping, puddling between their thighs, while the light from the flower fills up their head.

It narrows to push into them, a questing finger too thin to clench down on but finding sensitive spots with pinpoint accuracy as it goes deeper. And then it bottoms out, and expands. They’re in too tight a grip to even cry out as it stretches them from the inside, gradual enough that the only sensation is mounting pleasure as the stalk swells to its original girth.

Then it pulls out. Despite the mutual mess of lubrication the surface has a rubbery drag to it that rubs their nerves into a frenzy, pulses the last dregs of conscious though from their brain. 

It starts fucking them, slow smooth slide out and then back in with one firm thrust until the fat shape of it shows on their trim stomach, over and over like a wind-up mechanism, never losing its rhythm. In the depths of trance only their quivering thighs and soundlessly open mouth betray the strength of the sensation, but the comfortable paralysis only heightens it more. 

There’s no sense of time.

Embris is full of the blue light, stuffing their head, gathering at the base of their spine like an incoming storm, the sloppy obscene noises of the rough fucking echoing in their mind, a dim flicker of  _can’t move can’t think so good–_

It crests and then it’s radiating, from their clenching overstuffed hole all the way into their fingertips, flashes of light and perfect blankness, their magicka rushing out of them like water from a well and leaving a deeper trance behind, velvety blue, even as their body keeps climaxing. 

A flicker of awareness that the little rush of power means the fortify magicka potions are doing their job, that the creature will feed on them until it’s satisfied, before it gears up for round two and fucks the thought right out of their head.

 …

“You’ve returned! Do you want to claim a reward for slaying the creature?”

“No, but I’m thinking of renting it out by the hour.”


	2. Chapter 2




End file.
